Doggett was faster than him somehow, and Mulder resented it. He made it to the house first, far ahead. Mulder could hear the sound of the wood cracking, the door breaking in. He came out of the trees just as Doggett went in the door. And then Scully’s frantic voice: “What happened? John, where is he?”
“Scully!” he shouted, running faster, flailing his arms in his struggle to peel off his coat. (His hands were near useless, all pins and needles.) He was frantic, he had to see her.
She came out of the house, looking smaller than ever in her oversized coat. He finally managed to get his coat off and wrapped her in it; he couldn’t get it out of his head that she was cold, and she and the baby needed to be warmed up. “Are you okay? Is the baby okay?” he asked, pushing hair off of her forehead with trembling hands. His thumb smoothed her cheek, gently like she might break.
She reached out and grabbed him, yanking him close. Her fingernails dug into his back, and he gripped her just as tightly with one hand curling into her hair and the other finding her stomach. “Fuck you,” she mumbled tearfully into his chest. “Fuck you, I thought I’d never see you again, you fucking asshole.”
He laughed shakily and kissed the top of her head. “Love you too, Scully,” he said, absently rocking her back and forth.
Scully made a choking sound somewhere between a laugh and a cough. “You’re an idiot,” she mumbled, sniffling into his chest. She pressed the top of her head into the crook of his neck and he closed his eyes, balling his hands into the back of her jacket.